


Lathbora viran

by spookysloth



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: AU, Crossover Pairings, M/M, Self-Insert, Slash, Two Inquisitors
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-29
Updated: 2016-03-29
Packaged: 2018-05-29 20:02:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,834
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6391348
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spookysloth/pseuds/spookysloth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A what-if one-shot: what if Clan Lavellan had chosen not one spy, but two? Two spies with dreams, stories, and secret shames. This is the origin of The Two Inquisitors, who together closed the breach and saved all of Thedas from the demons that attempted to tear it apart. </p><p>But what came before the calculating mage and dashing rogue set aside their differences and wielded the Anchor together? This is their tale.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lathbora viran

**Author's Note:**

> Hey everybody! This fic is 100% the product of my desire to see both me and Olivia's self-inserts in the same universe, so this fic was born. Hope you like it!
> 
> Disclaimer: Mild slash but that shouldn't bother anyone but the homophobes.

It had been a quiet day when the decision was made.

Clan Lavellan was moving slowly in the autumn chill. The hunters and foragers burrowed deep into the forest, searching for game and herbs.

In the Keeper’s tent, the First entertained the young ones with dramatic tellings of the history of the Dalish, warming the enclosed space with a flow of mana when Keeper Deshanna wasn’t looking. Near the tent, the hahren was deep in discussion with the Keeper and other elders, talking quietly near the small fire Deshanna had sparked.

In the depths of the red and gold forest, the hunters had split into pairs; except for one. Asaris moved alone in the underbrush, tracking an enormous bear he caught the trail of a mile back. It would provide enough meat for the Autumnal feast, and he was determined to take it alone. When the leaves underfoot threatened to give the hunter away to the great beast, he ascended a nearby tree, preparing for a leaping strike to the back of the creature’s neck.

Asaris rocked back on his heels, and leapt. His aim was true, and his twin daggers pierced the large bear’s neck. It reared back on it’s haunches, and with a practiced hunter’s precision, he wrenched one dagger out of the beast’s neck and slit it’s throat. As the animal began to fall, the hunter removed his other dagger from the bear and and jumped gracefully to safety.

The man stood up, testing his limbs to ensure nothing was broken. Once Asaris realized he had made the kill without a scratch, he let out a whoop and punched the air, already crafting the perfect way to tell the story of his hunt.

Just as Asaris began to approach his kill, two quieter sounds revealed that the man wasn’t alone. He dropped into a crouch and quickly scanned the area, prepared to fight whatever came his way. When an initial search didn’t reveal the source of the noises, Asaris began to investigate the foliage of the area around him.

As the elf crouched low to poke around in a small cave he hadn’t seen before, he heard the sound again, and pressed further.

His stomach fell as he uncovered the the inhabitants of the cave: a pair of small bear cubs, their big brown eyes meeting his own look of panic. In his quest to prove his value as a hunter, he had forgotten the Vir Adahlen, and dishonored Andruil.

While Asaris was in crisis over his dishonorable kill, the two small cubs growled over the corpse of their mother. The cubs began to nudge their fallen mother’s paw with their muzzles, trying in vain to rouse her. When they failed, they only tried harder; head-butting and nipping at her legs. Mercifully, the cubs gave up on waking their mother, and began to play with a flexible sapling near their home. In a rare moment of reverence, the hunter resolved to atone for the murder. Asaris set to work, spending the day digging a grave for the slain bear mother.

As the Sun began the descent from its zenith, the hunter strained to push the body into the hole he had dug for it, giving it the proper burial as an apology to the fellow child of the Andruil. The cubs played in a mud puddle near the entrance to their home, wrestling with each other; the two keeping a comfortable distance from Asaris while he dug.

He scoured the ground near the grave, searching for an acorn to plant to re-introduce the great bear’s soul to the earth. Finding one, he dug a small mound into the fresh earth, and covered it. Asaris watered the seedling with his waterskin, and collapsed nearby, exhausted from the hours spent digging. He watched sadly as the cubs dug near the grave searching for their mother.

There was only one way to make what he’d done right, he reasoned to himself. He coaxed the two over to his seat on the ground with the dried meat he had left over from supper the day before, and smiled as the cubs ate it quickly, looking up at him with eyes that practically begged for more.”

“If you want more of that,” Asaris said frankly, “you’ll have to come with me.”

The cubs gave soft growls, and moved closer to him. The hunter extended his arms to them, wary of sharp teeth, and scooped the two wiggling creatures up. With a cub under each arm he started back to camp, sending up a silent prayer that they would give him little issue.

 

  
The sun had just begun to slip behind the horizon when Asaris sighted Clan Lavellan’s campsite in the clearing they always returned to in the fall. The cubs had long since fallen asleep in his arms, and the hunter had positioned one of the twins as comfortably as he could in his pack, carrying the other in his arms in a similar fashion to how he saw the mothers in his clan carry their newborn.

He made his way through the tents of his clan, following the sounds of song and dance to the feast that had begun without him.

Hiding his charges with his body as best he could, Asaris began to gather as much food as possible to feed the young cubs. The dark haired elf caught the eye of his companion Ratonhnaketon, who sat across the large fire pit talking among a small group. As their eyes met Asaris felt his lips tilt into a familiar smile; one he was powerless to keep from his face even if he wished to. When Asaris saw Ratonhnhaketon excuse himself from the group and head over he discouraged the elder hunter with a slight shake of his head; mouthing to him that they would talk later.

As Asaris moved to a dark patch of ground away from the others to feed his charges, the hearthmistress broke away from tending the great flame in the midst of the dancing to intercept him.

Asaris groaned as he removed the cub from his pack, “Brialle. Don’t you have someone else to bother right now?”

“Nonsense ma falon,” the bright eyed elf replied, “you are the only one I have to bother tonight.”

The hunter sighed.

“Just my luck,” he said, feeding chunks of boar to the softly growling cubs, “I know I didn’t bring anything back from the hunt, something came up.”

“Hence the da’lenen with you,” she said with a soft smirk.

The exhausted man only nodded.

“A story for another time, then?” Brialle suggested.

Asaris gave a grateful smile to the woman, who patted him on the hand and gracefully rose from the ground to return to her station. When he finally thought he had a moment of peace, Brialle’s spot on the cool ground was replaced by Ratonhnhaketon.

“You look exhausted ma vhenan,” the elder man greeted, and softly kissed him on the mouth, “in more ways than one.”

“It has been….” Asaris said carefully, “a trying day.”

“So I can see,” Ratonhnhaketon mused, and gestured to the cubs now playfully pawing Asaris’ knee, “I suppose these rambunctious little ones are the fruits of your labor?”

The younger hunter nodded, scarfing down his own food so the cubs wouldn’t see.

“I promise, ma vhenan,” Asaris started, “ I will tell you the story soon, I just need time.”

Ratonhnhaketon nodded thoughtfully.

“I understand,” he said quietly, “I did not mean to bother you, ir abelas.”

Asaris pulled him down into a deep kiss, causing the older man to blush that shade of dusky red that looked so beautiful across his features  
“You will never bother me, emma lath,” Asaris said in a hushed voice, “never forget that.”

With that, he released his lover’s arm and allowed him to rejoin the festivities. He found himself retreating into his mind not much longer; eyes unfocused as they watched the movement of multiple bodies bathed in the light of the fire as they danced.

 

  
Fenralen was multitasking, mentally rehearsing his part in tonight’s festival. His practice distracted him from the dance, and he stumbled over himself, disrupting the rhythm. The mage kept his eyes glued to the ground, ignoring the hahren and Halla Keeper’s pointed glares. With a dramatic flourish, the dancing portion of the fest came to an end, and Fenralen’s work began.

Maintaining a steady flow of magic, he began to paint pictures in the air over the fire of Arlathan, or at least, the First told himself, what he was taught to believe it looked like. Brialle dimmed the fire, and the hahren, Varahel began to weave the tale of the plight of the Dalish. As the story progressed, so did the illusions Fenralen prided himself in.

After a few minutes that felt like hours, Vahrel concluded the tale, ending with the People living apart, always travelling, discovering bits and pieces of the old world. Drained from the extensive use of magic, the First gratefully accepted a lyrium potion that Deshanna pressed into his hand as the elderly Keeper walked by to address the clan.

“Andaran Atish’an,” she called out.

“Aneth ara,” the clan dutifully responded.

With a small smile, Deshanna began to speak.

“Elvhen,” she began, “we feast tonight in honor of the changing of seasons. But there is another matter I would address before the night ends.”

“In only a week’s time,” the Keeper continued, “the shemlen Chantry 12 will hold a conclave, to mediate the warring templars and mages, whose conflict we have often encountered personally.”

A few heads in the crowd nodded thoughtfully, remembering their own encounters with the carnage.

“The elders and I have agreed,” Deshanna said, “and so will many of you, that the effects of this conclave will be strong, especially on the Elvhen. For this reason, Varahel and I are in agreement that we must observe these proceedings, without their knowledge. It is the only way to keep our clan safe.”

Clan Lavellan began to mutter in earnest, each in discussion over the news. Each, that is, except Asaris, tending to his two new charges, and Fenralen, who stood silently behind the keeper, his face carefully blank.

“After much consideration,” the Keeper said after a moment or two, raising her hands for silence, “we have decided to not send one, but two spies to this Conclave of theirs. This is done to maintain the safety of our spies, and we have put much thought into our choices.”

Varahel stepped forward.

“Together,” he began, “the Keeper and I have decided to send the First to the keeper, Fenralen, and the esteemed hunter Asaris, for this mission.”  
Asaris’ jaw dropped, and Fenralen’s composure cracked, his eyes widening a millimeter.

The clan’s applause woke the two cubs, sending them mewling into the hunter’s arms. He carefully picked them up, walking forward to join Fenralen near the Keeper.

“Dareth shiral,” the Keeper cried out, and the crowd echoed her.

“Dareth shiral!”


End file.
